


Werebunny

by RueRambunctious



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Bruises, Domestic, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Power Dynamics, Threats, severich
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-19
Updated: 2018-06-19
Packaged: 2019-05-25 16:29:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14981063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RueRambunctious/pseuds/RueRambunctious
Summary: Severin returns from training and is unimpressed when his new boyfriend Richie complains about the resultant bruises. Luckily his bunny has a way of making the domestic worthwhile.





	Werebunny

Severin is tired, hungry, and truth be told a little sore as he approaches home (or at least the flat he calls home when he's not staying at Richie's). What Sev needs is food, a shower and a rest in no obvious order. His skin has perspired so much it has that grimy, almost sticky-to-the-touch feel of anything left near the coastland to be coated with the fine salt spray of seawater. His stomach is beginning to hurt almost as much as his thoroughly used muscles and if he sleeps now he does not doubt that his belly will later ache worse than the injury he has taken to his shoulder from a few poorly executed rolls.

The big blond momentarily ignores these concerns as he notices movement near his front door. His flat has a communal garden and two little boys have decided to play football there.

One child takes notice of Severin's approach and scampers over. The remaining little boy picks up the faded ball and hugs it to his chest warily.

“Hi, Sev'rin!” the first little boy cries out cheerfully.

Severin lets himself through the gate and mentally notes to himself that he needs to oil the thing again. The child before him has probably been swinging on it in play but Sev doesn't begrudge the child that.

“Hullo, Hugo,” Severin says. He nods mildly at the wide-eyed child clutching a Paw Patrol ball. He recognises him as a recent friend of Hugo's but the other boy's name escapes him. It has taken a while for the local children (or rather their parents) to warm to Hugo and it's only relatively recently that Severin has left the army and been staying here with anything resembling regularity.

For all Severin has been a sporadic presence in the neighbourhood Hugo is quite comfortable with the big blond. “Your boyfriend's having tea with my Mum,” Hugo announces.

His little friend gives Severin a wary look. A number of the families on the street are very religious, but the new child's family can't be all that traditional or they would forbid contact with little Hugo.

Severin closes his eyes briefly. His neighbour Sophie and Richie do occasionally get together to drink tea and grumble about men, and Sev hardly minds that. He rather likes young Soph, even if many of the other neighbours do not. What Severin could do without right now is Richard's company, because he knows fine well what his grumpy little Bunny will say.

Severin ruffles Hugo's hair. “Thanks for the warning, little man.”

Hugo beams at him, but there's a hint of nervousness tightening the countenance of his young face. Sophie has done her best to ensure her son grows up in a decent environment, but kids around here don't have to go far to be exposed to tensions in nearby households. There are a lot of children around here who look anxious whenever a couple seem likely to bicker in the neighbourhood.

“We'll be fine, nothing for you to worry about,” Severin says with a brightness he does not entirely feel.

Hugo smiles up at him and nods, but does not seem convinced.

Severin feels sorry for the child and pulls a few coins out of his pocket. “Go treat yourself and your little friend to something from the van when it comes 'round, eh? But _remember_ to _be careful when you're crossing the street_. Look both ways.”

“I promise, Sev,” says Hugo. He looks somewhat placated, and as Severin heads towards the front door Hugo bounds off to his friend. The other boy looks at the treat money and then Severin with pursed lips and a mildly troubled expression. He is afraid of Sev still, and the big blond hardly blames him.

Severin lets himself inside (noting the latch of the main door is broken… again) and heads up the stairs with less swiftness than he would like. His thighs are tired and sore. He considers that he may have been lax with his warmdown having been so exhausted today, but perhaps he is more injured than he's noticed yet. The reveal is always once the adrenaline entirely fades and the fainter bruises start to appear. The ones that bloom blue hours after the ones that start red begin.

Sev forces himself up another flight of stairs and listens hard as he passes Hugo and Sophie's door. Sophie's quite soft-spoken but Severin's lover has a distinctive, loud laugh often audible through doors and walls and possibly unearthly dimensions.

Severin doesn't hear the familiar peals, and so far Richie has no reason not to be mirthful. This knowledge makes Sev's stomach drop and he sighs again. The big blond pulls down his sleeves before approaching his own door. Richie's left it unlocked, which Sev often tells him not to do, as it's not exactly a great neighbourhood and with Richie looking as he does… well. Trouble could follow.

Today however Severin's almost glad of the disobedience. The muscles in his arms are burning as fiercely as his misused shoulder and it is a mercy not to have to fumble with his keys.

“Kitchen, 'Rin!” Richie calls. He sounds happy and that only makes Severin feel worse.

“I smell really bad, baby, I'm gonna hit the shower first...” Sev says back. He attempts to creep to the bathroom before he is called back like an errant child, but Richie suffers no fools. He rarely does. The brunet appears from the kitchen with a food-coated implement and a knowing frown.

“Did you get hurt?” Richie demands.

Severin throws back his head as annoyance automatically rolls his eyes. He shouldn't be the one answering to anyone in this relationship, or anywhere outside of work. “I'm fine,” Sev insists. He tries to walk away even though he knows Richie will follow.

“You know I hate it when you get hurt,” Richie says.

“Yes, well, it's not about you, is it?” Severin grumbles. “And I'm _fine_.”

“You're not the one who's supposed to get hurt,” Richie complains. “Sev, is that _blood_?”

“It's not sexual,” Sev mutters. He looks down at Richie's exclamation and upon failure to find said blood follow's Richie's gaze to his arm. Blood is streaked from his elbow, but Severin has no memory of hurting himself thus. Prodding the dried smears, Severin says, “Relax, it's not even mine.”

“That doesn't make me feel much better,” Richie responds.

“I don't go to make you feel better,” Severin says. “I go to make _me_ feel better, and to stay sharp enough to _keep you safe_ if I need to.”

Richie knows fine well that this is the case, but he screws up his cute little face anyway. It annoys Severin a little that even when Richie is being an utter pain in the hoop the brunet still has the audacity to look so endearing. He loves the frustrating little…

“You look _sore_ ,” says Richie.

'I am sore,' Severin almost snaps, but he catches himself and responds with a routine, “It's nothing,” instead.

“I know,” Richie sighs, “but it looks...”

“Richard. I am fine,” Severin says firmly. “No breaks; no dislocations; no sorry ligaments. All you're looking at is a few minor bruises, and they'll be gone in a few days-”

“But they won't be! Because you always get more,” Richie protests.

Severin sighs with deep dissatisfaction. What Richie does not appreciate that in any given martial arts class there are bound to be a few men with taped up fingers. There will be boxers with crooked nose and wrestlers with braces on their knackered knees. A man cannot effectively train for combative situations without reasonably expecting a few related injuries.

And in the line of business Severin is in, working for Richie's big brother no less, a man has to be able to defend himself (and others). Skills and techniques need to be honed and drilled to be properly relied upon in tense situations.

What Sev finds difficult to appreciate is that Richie still worries. Severin sighs again, calmer this time. He doesn't want to fight with his little actor. Certainly Richie came over and set out cooking dinner for a reason other than picking an argument.

“Bunny, you don't need to worry. Now please give it a rest, eh? I'm going to go shower,” Sev says with an air of finality. He turns and doesn't pull his clothing off on the way to the bathroom lest he expose more of his bruises to Richie's concerned gaze.

Richie stamps his foot and for all the action's amusing petulance the rising skin on Severin's arms reminds him that this stroppy little bunny is kin to Jim Moriarty. Richie is a bunny with teeth and claws... Sev's little werebunny.

“Don't you dismiss me like that! I am _talking_ to you,” Richie snarls.

Of course, it has been a long time since Sev was adverse to skinning rabbits, wild or not. “Don't tell me what to do in my own home, or at all,” Severin snaps. “You don't invite yourself into my life and get to tell me how to live it, pet.”

“You're my boyfriend! I'm supposed to worry about you!” Richie says fiercely.

Severin presses his lips together tightly before baring his teeth. He's never been inclined to stick such relationships, tied down to another's concerns, and for all Richie is special their fresh relationship is not _easy_. “I've never asked you to,” says Sev. “If you've got a problem with it you're welcome to go home, or back to the kitchen before you burn the place down...” He pushes open the bathroom door.

Richie's eyes flash and Severin belatedly remembers what his own brother Sebastian has previously said about Moriarty being a hazard in the kitchen, despite having a mind easily capable of understanding chemistry and numbers. Both brunet siblings are at least partially composed of fire and spite, despite Richie's outwardly fluffy appearance. Of course he'll burn the building down if left unattended, and _especially_ with a fit of pique as motive.

Severin doesn't care. He's spent long enough arguing and he's hungry and tired. He's certainly going to take his shower and then he's going to deal with his other needs, if Richie hasn't set the kitchen aflame by then. 

Sev leaves the door a little ajar to better hear the fire alarm should it go off (and partly because he likes the domesticity of hearing Richie potter about his flat, even if that includes stomping around a smoke-blackened kitchen, not that Severin would admit this aloud). The blond drops down his enormous sports bag at last, his water bottle and his gumshield making a noise as they connect with each other within it. Ordinarily Sev might lift out some of his kit to squash into the laundry basket (and really he ought to put his wrestling boots in the washing machine given their powerful goalie's mitts smell, _and_ the strap on one of his shinnies needs looking at) but Severin is too tired for that tonight. It can all wait. The blond toes out of his trainers and feels the back of his neck prickle.

Richie throws the kitchen utensil with surprising accuracy. “Don't you _care_?”

Severin turns around slowly. He's not unused to flashes of the brunet's temper, but this is his house and he is not in the mood for this tonight or ever. He growls, “Oh, I care poppet. You had better trot through to that kitchen and sort our dinner out, because if I have to step out of the water to fetch you the fire blanket I am going to give you a _strapping_ you won't forget in a hurry.”

Richie curls his lip and Severin can tell by the glitter of those dark eyes that his brunet considers and discards the temptation to hit him. Instead Richie stalks towards the front door. “I hope you _choke_.”

Severin is tempted to just ignore the brunet and step his aching muscles under a spray of welcomely warm water. Instead he snarls and follows Richie on longer legs, easily crossing the distance to bar Richie's exit with one strong arm against the front door.

“Alright, so we're both mad,” Severin says tightly. “However… if I make you leave now we're just going to argue later.”

Richie sniffs in annoyance. “So you'd rather argue now?”

“No,” says Sev. “What I'd rather do is have a shower, fill my belly, and go to bed, but being the idiot I am I don't want you to leave here upset.”

“If you would just acknowledge my feelings for once then-”

Severin makes an irate noise and pulls away from the smaller man. “I don't _do_ feelings, Rich-”

“You filthy liar,” Richie retorts instantly.

Severin raises his brows. “I'm sorry?”

Richie pushes him with more force than one might expect for someone of his small stature. Even with Severin's aches it doesn't make the bigger man move much. “You should be!” Richie snaps as though his move was at all effective. Commandingly he insists, “You _do_ have feelings. You _love_ me.”

Severin grimaces. It takes him some effort to admit Richie is right, because at most that is something he murmurs into the brunet's neck in intimate moments, not sometime like this. However, he _does_ love Richie, more than he's ever loved anybody, and the exasperating little brat doesn't deserve to be lied to otherwise.

“...Yes, Bunny. Yes, I certainly do.”

Richie prods Sev with sharp, little fingers. “Then _say_ that. Show me. Don't be such a… um...”

Severin cannot help but smirk a little, because they have the sort of relationship where he often (consensually) punishes Richie for his smart little mouth. Even though Sev _loves_ it when sweet little Richie swears. Were they not in such an odd dynamic right now Severin and Richie both know that they would be slipping into the familiar habit of … well… washing Richie's mouth out with bodily fluid coaxed out of Severin.

“I lo-”

Sev breaks off and sniffs before bolting towards the kitchen. He curses loudly and is greeted by flames just as the fire alarm begins to scream. Severin sighs and tackles the minor calamity. Partway through he glances up at Richie. “Broom. Switch off that noise, will you? And Bunny, you are going to apologise to the neighbours later for the racket.”

“You think Sophie'll have heard the alarm through all the soundproofing?” Richie asks once he has make the infernal noise stop. Or at least, the fire alarm ceases to blare; both men still have ringing in their ears.

Severin removes a baking tray of charcoal remains to the belly of the steel sink and gives his lover a wry look. “Maybe not, but you better hope no one hears me whip your arse raw for this.”

Richie's stomach instantly feels flutters and the sensation shows clearly on his face. After a beat he frowns and protests, “You're not putting a _hand_ on my a- my _behind_ after how you've been tonight. You can forget it.”

Severin opens a window to let some of the smoke depart. “What are you here for then?”

“Because you asked me to stay,” says Richie.

Sev looks at him intently. “Yeah… I did.”

“ _'Yeah… I did_ ,'” Richie mimics derisively.

Severin raises a brow. “What did I just say about me tanning your bum?”

Richie snorts. “Yeah right. Have you seen them bruises around your wrists? _You_ look like the bitch in this relationship, 'Rin.”

Severin splutters in startled indignation, even though this is hardly the first time Richie has teased thus. “I swear, Bunny, if I need to tie you down and-”

Richie grins. “And what? What's the worst you've got, big man?”

Severin chuckles. “The _worst_? I could make you eat your cooking, how about that? I hear all the celebs are eating charcoal. In fact, don't you have some of those stupid face gunk things in my bathroom made of charcoal? Did you fancy making your own?”

Richie leans back against the opposite countertop oblivious to the black smudges now staining his cardigan. “Why do I even love you?”

“Because my hands are big enough to wrap around your neck and I can hold up your bodyweight unsupported the entire time we have rough sex,” Severin says without missing a beat.

Richie laughs: that unmistakable signature sound Severin had missed earlier. The blond's eyes soften. “Sorry for being grumpy with you earlier, Bunny.”

Richie gives a soft smile in return and pushes some bread into the toaster. “S'okay. I know you're tired and hangry and I ambushed you with a telling off -that you deserved- when you got in.”

Severin sighs and grabs Richie by the belt to pull the smaller man close. “Is it really though?” the blond asks. “It's not much of a compromise if I'm not going to stop training, and I'm not going to really hide it either. That would feel like lying to you and I...”

Richie leans up and kisses Sev quiet. “You're thinking too much.”

“You usually tell me I don't think enough,” Severin says dryly.

“And that's true,” Richie says. “You're lucky I want you for your body.”

Severin laughs and curses the brunet affectionately.

“Besides, I know a better way to persuade you to take better care of yourself,” says Richie.

“Oh yeah? What's that then?” Severin asks with a mixture of interest and skepticism.

Richie smiles with playful cruelty. “I'm no longer putting out on nights when you come home bruised.”

Severin ignores his painful shoulder to pull his little brat close. “Oh yeah? And what if I just take what I want anyway?”

Richie reaches up and taps Severin's nose mockingly. “Then I'd use my safeword. You might be big and deadly, 'Rin, but we both know _I'm_ the one really in control.”

Severin is glad of the pop of the toaster to distract from the way he helplessly bites his lip in response to his little Werebunny's words. Richie fishes out a butter knife and grins. “I saw that.”

Severin rolls his eyes, grabs a slice of toast and takes an overgenerous bite. He drops the dry toast back down and wipes the crumbs on his clothing. As usual, the blond is going to have to postpone such boring things as food and sleep and showering. He fixes his green eyes on Richie and pins the brunet against the counter again. “So tell me then, Bunny,” Sev whispers, “what am I going to do with you?”

Richie grins. “Oh, that's as evident as the marks on your wrists, 'Rin, _pet_. You're going to eat something, and then you are going to make me ask you very nicely to give me some very pretty matching bruises. We are a _couple_ after all...”

“Richie, _pet_?”

The dark-haired actor gives his lover a warm look. “Yeah, 'Rin?”

“I do love you.”


End file.
